


I Will Not Let Go Of What Is Mine

by ix_tab



Series: This Is What Love Looks Like [6]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Fucking and Belts but no beltfucking, Golden Lovers, I know I'm a coward, Kota's heel turn re eating his greens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ix_tab/pseuds/ix_tab
Summary: After the G1 special, Kota welcomes Kenny home with open arms and an idea that has been kicking around in his head since Kenny's triumph over Okada. Kenny is more then happy to humour his request.





	I Will Not Let Go Of What Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Like Kota, I've had this idea since Dominion, but it only really came together today.  
> It's been a little while, I'm glad to be writing again for me favourite lads.
> 
> Title from K.Flay's song "Giver", an extremely Kenny song if I've ever heard one.

“Congratulations on your win. Are you ok? I saw that…other things happened as well,” Kota says as he answers Kenny’s call. “Also, how far away are you? I was getting worried when you didn’t call when you landed.”

It feels alien but perfect to have this boring little domestic chat with Kenny. Their lives are ridiculous, fast as light, they speed along.

A small moment where its something two regular people could say to one another is, perhaps a bit of a gift.

“I’m ok. A bit shaken up, a bit sore but I will be fine. And I’m at the door. I forgot my key,” Kenny admits, sounding surprisingly alert for a man who had travelled across countries to come back to him.

“I’m getting you that leash,” Kota scolds as he sets down the cabbage he’d been considering doing something dull to, like steaming.

Kenny being away from home has given him a lot of party time, a need and the guilt free ability to blow off stress.

He’d hit a previously undiscovered threshold for bar snacks the night before, but at home the fridge was mostly bare.

 _I’ll deal with you later,_ he thinks spitefully at the slightly wilted vegetable. It rolls into the sink, which is where it can stay forever, as far as he’s concerned. He has much more pressing business.

Kota opens the door to a smiling Kenny. He looks fresher, not the rumpled exhausted mess that often tumbled in after even domestic matches. Kota raises an eyebrow.

“I had a shower and changed at the airport. I needed it, it was a particularly funky plane, and I ached,” Kenny responds to the unasked question.

Kota kisses him and hears the clatter of Kenny’s dropped bags. He loves being Kenny’s exception. Kenny tries to take care of his things, travelling makes you appreciate the little creature comforts you carry with you.

At a single touch, Kenny would hurl his bags off of the balcony for him. It’s a good feeling, not one he wants to take for granted.

“Missed you, missed seeing you. Missed everything about you,” Kenny mumbles as Kota pulls away just enough to get at his throat. He’s going to leave bite marks. It’s a gift he’s giving himself.

“Missed you too. The place doesn’t feel the same without someone playing videogames at 4am with the sound muted,” Kota laughing as Kenny attempts to defend himself.

Instead Kenny lets himself be dragged into the centre of the room, clothes being shed haphazardly.

“I was going to use the shower as a way to get you naked. Make you slippery and -” Kota wiggles his fingers in front of Kenny’s eyes.

“Slippery and malleable. Fuck you in the shower until your legs gave out and then carry you to bed.”

Kenny snorts. He’s only wearing his tshirt and underwear now, Kota shirtless and in jeans. They make a messy but complimentary pair.

“I’m sorry for ruining your master plan. Let’s at least do some of it, I need i, need what you want to give me and I’m already showered,” Kenny pleads his case, grinning. Kota sniffs, unable to maintain even a minuscule amount of faux irritation.

He’s hungry for Kenny, for his body, his voice, his presence. Wants to fall upon him, ravenous, feast and devour him.

Kota settles for kissing him sweetly, pushing him onto the bed and giving the order of “Take the rest of your clothes off, now.”

Kenny flashes him a cheeky peace sign, echoes of the brat he has never quite outgrown being, as Kota drags Kenny’s bags into the bedroom.

“I love you, Bu-san, but I put my foot down at indulging any sort of clothes folding and putting away fetish you have,” Kenny jokes, leaning back on his elbows on the bed.

He’s naked, unashamed and beautiful, a little bruised in places. Also, amused by the way Kota gets distracted from responding by looking at his body.

Muscles that Kota had helped sculpt, skin that Kota had oiled and soothed and cleaned, bones that Kota had feared for the safety of.

All of Kenny was his. He didn’t want a cell in Kenny’s body to exist that he hadn’t, in some way touched.

“Deny me my shower, deny me the chance to see you in a maid costume…heartbreaker,” Kota says rifling through Kenny’s bags. “No, Kenny I don’t actually have a maid costume for you, but who knows what the future holds?”

“Bu-san, you deviant,” Kenny laughs as Kota meets his eyes.

It never stops being a punch into the core of his being, Kenny’s laugh, Kenny’s love for him.

“Ugh. You are so difficult, and I am so easy for you,” Kota laments, walking closer so he can kiss Kenny on the cheeks, forehead, mouth.

Kenny closes his eyes, lets Kota rain down affection on him, only giggles a little when Kota slips down to bite at his ear.

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” Kenny says softly, eyes still closed. Kota very gently knocks their heads together, Kenny’s eyes flying open and wide with the shock.

“Why be sorry? I like you, I love you and you can be difficult. You’re worth the hard work.” Kota squeezes his leg high up, delighting in the spasm of Kenny’s thigh and the way Kenny’s face colours and the way the bed moves as Kenny throws himself backwards to bounce a little.

Kenny presses the palms of his hands on his closed eyes, probably trying to remove the heat from his face.

“Kenny. Kenny-tan, don’t hide from me, I still haven’t told you how you are going to make it up to me, preventing me from fucking you in the shower,” Kota says.

Kenny opens his eyes cautiously to see Kota holding the heavyweight champion belt up, like he’d just beaten Kenny. The light from the bedroom is behind the back of his head, he’s briefly illuminated, a halo of electricity.

Kota watches Kenny’s eyes dilate, his cock twitch in the apex of his thighs.

“You know that you’re the only person I want to beat me, the only person I want to see that on the waist of, besides me.” Kenny swallows. Kota feeling himself get hard at the thought.

The g1 match awaits, their old feelings brought up to the fore. He isn’t sure how to feel about that other then urgency. He wants it to happen right now. The thought of waiting a month, building up to it? Unbearable.

But beyond that, beyond the until recently walls of Budoken… something new in their future is coming. He can’t wait for that either.

Anyone who thinks they’ve seen Kenny’s best opponent hasn’t seen them together. He yearns to have the people stunned in disbelief as they move against one another.

He wants to move against Kenny right now, in a less officiated manner.

“I think if we fight for the belt now, there’s going to be at least 20 people who will kill us. Gedo will strangle us with Chaos towels,” Kenny continues. Kota flicks him on the forehead, sharply.

“Never mention Gedo while I’m standing over your naked body.” Kota scowls. Kenny sticks his tongue out. The look in Kenny’s eyes is complicated.

Soft and sincere but his blood is up, the way it always is when they have a match together.

Kota likes it.

“But yes, I agree. I don’t think they’d like to crown their new champion while both our dicks are out,”

“You’re still wearing your jeans,” Kenny points out. Kota undoes the fly one handed, slightly awkwardly steps out of them, yanks down his own briefs.

“Pants problem solved. As I was saying, it’s not the right time for me to take the belt off you. In fact, mister champion, I’d like to help ease the stress your friends have caused…again.”

Kenny looks softer still, maybe sad but when he stares back into Kota’s eyes again his gaze is clear, strong. Whatever Kenny’s feeling, being here with him is enough to move through it, not dwell.

That in itself, is a sign of how much they’ve grown together. Kenny turns inwards, mulls it over, spirals down with ease when it comes to negative feelings.

And Kota doesn’t have to do anything but simply be here to help him cope. Not a lucky charm but a stalwart guide through the fog and muck of misery.

Kenny has orientated himself by Kota’s star for a decade now, even when he fought it, denied it. Now, it’s an easy process, Kenny willing to let him light their path, to follow him through the dark.

Kenny makes him feel very powerful, magical almost at times.

“No more sad faces! Let’s at least celebrate your first defence!” Kota watches with a little bit of sadistic glee as what he’s about to ask for dawns on Kenny.

Any trace of the shadows of darker emotion are gone because his breath quickens, he bites his lips unconsciously.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your belt, Kenny,” Kota says and Kenny makes a noise that’s somewhere between a squeal and a gasp.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it. You were so warm when I put it around you, when you won. I kept fumbling, thinking about the thousands of people watching us. Watching me get to press leather and metal into you.”

Kota runs his free hand down Kenny’s chest and stomach, feeling the warmth of his body, the smooth texture of his skin. He could touch Kenny forever and it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

“…God. Take responsibility for your terrible ideas, Bu-san. If we don’t do this, I’m never going to be able to wear it without wishing we had,” Kenny groans. He has one arm thrown over his face and he reaches with the other to grab Kota’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

Kota squeezes their fingers then shakes free, puts the belt down carefully on the ground.

He crouches over Kenny, bracketing his body with his hands and knees.

“Hey. Hey look at me,” Kota says gently and his gaze is met with its bright blue counterpart.

“If this is crossing a boundary, or you think you should just because I’d like it, then I don’t want it. I want you on equal terms, always.” Kota kisses him again, because Kenny’s face is so close, and he doesn’t want to watch Kenny make the decision, if it has truly made him uncomfortable.

“I think I’d like it. It, uh, it seems exciting.” Kenny says, seeming like he’s testing it out, just considering the thoughts as he says it out loud.

“And, yeah. I thought about it too, and then everyone was there and it felt like I was seconds away from passing out. Not much time to consider how sexy the idea is, if I’m also panicking about having a concussion.”

Kota smirks, pleased. He’s personally never let the potential of a concussion ruin a good time. But if he says that, Kenny will get into a huff about him not taking care of himself.

Hashing out that same old argument is not going to be helpful to maintaining the mood.

“I want to see your face when you come, and the belt limits us. So, you’ll have to ride me,” Kota says, as he gets up to find supplies. Kenny’s absence over the past few days and his own incessant need to explore and train and party has meant a lot of his bags are barely unpacked.

He rummages through a nearby one, pulls out the little bathroom bag. Three condoms, and the small bottle of lube the airport security had looked at askance. He turns to Kenny, who has picked up the belt, looking at its tarnished metal surface.

“I’m going to put that on you, don’t get ideas.” Kota scrambles back to the bed and Kenny wordlessly hands him the belt. Its weight always surprises Kota, he expects it to be heavier or lighter then it really is. 

“Stand up, I’ve got you,” Kota urges him to his feet. Kenny stands still, obedient, pliant as Kota is behind him, loose embrace as he puts the belt around his waist. Kota watches, feels the little shiver that flickers through Kenny’s body.

“Cold? Is it uncomfortable?” Kota asks, pausing as he was about to begin snapping the belt closed.

Kenny shakes his head slightly, curls tickling Kota’s face.

“No, it’s fine. Kinda warm, actually.”

“Ahh, warm with the blood of previous champions,” Kota says seriously and effortlessly dodges the foot Kenny flicks backwards at him.

“Don’t be gross about my career’s highest achievement and also the actual thing I have resting above my dick, thank you,” Kenny says, sounding more proper then a man who is jolting every time a snap works into place should.

“There. It’s on. Does it feel different then normal? More then just adrenalin pumping though your cock right now?” Kota walks around Kenny, taking it all in.

Ridiculous that nudity should change it this much. He’s seen Kenny, dripping with sweat and water, belt around his waist before.

Now it looks different. Kota is struck by the idea of Kenny laced into leather corsets or thick collars and cuffs.

Something to discuss a different day.

“It feels…I don’t know exactly. Heavy. I can feel every little bit of it touch me. Feels like - like I’m anchored? Does that make sense?” Kenny’s closed his eyes again, trying to express the strange headspace he’s fallen into. Kota wants.

“I’ve got you, got a hold on you,” Kota says, and grabs the belt, pulling Kenny almost off his feet in his haste to kiss him. He’s secured the belt well enough that it can take the strain and he holds Kenny there, thumbs slipping under the tight leather band to the febrile skin it hides.

Kenny hangs his arms gently over Kota’s shoulders, lets himself be backed up and lowered to the bed. His eyes aren’t closed but he keeps looking down, colour high in his cheeks again.

Another thing, endless on the list of things that Kota loves about Kenny is his honest skin. He bruises easy, teeth marks stay indented in his neck and shoulders, his thighs, really anywhere that Kota cares to bite.

He reddens in the sun, pales in the winter and he cannot hide a blush.

“Open yourself up for me, Kenny. I want to watch. I always want to watch you.” Kota passes him the lube, pushes Kenny back to the head of the bed so he can prop himself up, splay his legs wide enough.

Kenny slicks his fingers, sighing as he works two into himself, on display for Kota’s famished gaze. There’s hundreds of hours of footage of Kenny out there in the world. He’s been a part of a lot of it. But nowhere except for in his memory does this exist.

For him only, the sight of Kenny curling his toes as he makes himself pant, cock hard on his thigh, the champion’s belt glinting dully around his waist.

Kota hasn’t got the patience for any more. He runs a perfunctory hand along his own cock, remembers to take his time putting the condom on and pulls Kenny’s fingers out of himself, getting a surprised yell in return.

“Up, up Kenny. Get on me, now,” using the belt to leverage Kenny to straddle him. Kenny groans a little.

“Jeez, Kota. It doesn’t have to be so… ‘wam-bam-thank you ma'am’. I’m not going anywhere,” Kenny says and Kota scrunches up his face, trying to translate in a sex addled daze, unsuccessfully.

“Ah. It means 'going fast, trying to get to the end as quickly as possible,” Kenny explains without being asked. Translating back and forth has become second nature for him, Kota can sometimes get an answer from him simply with a tilt of his head.

“New rules. I won’t talk about blood in the bedroom, you don’t use English idioms and no one mentions Gedo.”

Kenny bursts out laughing, tries to shush himself and nods. Kota traces small circles on Kenny’s knee.

“Do you want to slow down, am I moving too fast?” Kota asks, feeling relief as Kenny shakes his head.

“No, I was just teasing. You know me, I’m difficult,” Kenny replies, sing-song and breathless as he holds Kota’s cock still with one hand, bringing himself to meet it.

Kota presses his hands on Kenny’s straining thighs so he can’t wiggle off until Kota has him pierced and pinned, like the butterfly on a collector’s wall. Kota does not share that thought with Kenny. He’s pretty sure that that would be covered under the 'don’t talk about blood’ rule.

“Tease me later, be as difficult as you please. Now, just let me have you, have this,” Kota hisses out between his clenched teeth as Kenny begins to move, with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what effect he’s having.

The belt slides and shifts on his hips, stomach as he grinds Kota into the bed, and Kota finds himself resenting it for hiding an inch of Kenny’s skin from him.

“The belt is stupid, I hate it, take it off,” Kota complains, scrabbling for it without sitting up. Kenny leans back to be out of range of his reaching fingertips and then his entire body shakes. Kota laughs at him, belt forgotten as he thrusts up to make Kenny quiver again. By accident, they’ve found the right angle to have him come undone as fast as possible.

“The belt was your idea, so now you-” Kenny cuts himself off, trying to catch his breath “so you have to deal!” He’s leaning back on his arms, braced against Kota’s bent knees.There’s sweat running down Kenny’s chest like they were training, like they were fighting, but its so much sweeter, more satisfying.

“Fine. Come on then, champion, earn your title,” Kota likes to make Kenny get competitive, it’s a language they were both fluent in before understanding anything the other said.

“I’m winning this one, Kota,” Kenny’s eyes narrow, and there is silence between them, just the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the involuntary exhalation and grunts that sex necessitates. It’s good. It’s the focus leading up the finish, it’s running five miles and then seeing the ribbon at the end, it’s jumping off a ledge and feeling the ground rush up to meet him.

Kenny’s got him, though. Kota has to sit up, still his hips and fuck into him hard and cruel for a minute before he comes, head spinning. Kenny’s laughing voicelessly, and Kota flicks back into focus, rubs his thumb across the head of Kenny’s cock. 

Kenny comes, shocking himself, choking on his own desperate breath. He collapses, both of them wincing as Kota awkwardly slips out of him. Kenny lays in a crumpled heap at Kota’s feet, trying to regain any semblance of himself. Then he sighs.

“Bu-san, I’m too afraid to check. Can you see if I came on the belt?” Kota obligingly crawls to him, rolls him over, considers lying.

“We’re lucky. Narrowly avoided staining the honour of our company,” Kota says solemnly. Kenny looks at him, and wordlessly reaches up to be kissed. Kota obliges him in that too.

He takes the belt off slowly, putting it on a chair near the bed. He notices the little marks it’s left on Kenny’s stomach. He feels conflicted. They are his marks, but not by his hand.

“It was inconclusive, we’ll have to face each other again,” Kenny says, resting against him, face pressed into his shoulder, eyes closed. Kota has always liked how Kenny dozes after orgasm, trusting Kota with his body, to care for him. 

Another way that Kenny says I love you, this man who keeps a surprising amount of himself hidden away, is wanting Kota to be there when he’s at his softest, his most vulnerable.

Kota nods, realises Kenny can’t see him, and strokes his back instead.

“Anytime, Kenny-tan. I’m always ready for you.”

**_Addendum:_ **

Kenny looked over from where he was scrubbing the belt clean, not prepared to take chances and saw a rather sad looking cabbage sitting in the sink.

“Bu-san, why do we have a dying vegetable in the sink?” He shouted to Kota, who was stretching in the loungeroom, getting ready to go train.

“That’s where it lives now,” Kota said firmly, kissed Kenny on the brow and quickly moved to put on his shoes before Kenny could ask anything else.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cabbage-san,” Kenny said, just to make Kota laugh as he did up his laces.


End file.
